


Picking Up The Pieces

by 4ce_in_sp4ce



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Arthur's just having a really terrible time of it, Drugging, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Panic Attacks, Torture, and Eames is worried about him, does it count as psychological torture if it happens in dreams?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:23:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25429867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4ce_in_sp4ce/pseuds/4ce_in_sp4ce
Summary: Arthur looked down, refusing to look at him. “They were just dreams. They shouldn’t be bothering me.”Eames sighed. “You know as well as I do that shit feels real when you’re in it. Your brain doesn’t care whether it was real or a dream. It just remembers it happened.”
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 81





	Picking Up The Pieces

Arthur sat limply in the chair. Most of his ribs were broken and he was pretty sure one of his lungs was collapsed. His other one might have been starting to fill with blood, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it was fucking painful to take a breath. 

“You look like you’re in pain. I s’pose you’d have to be after that.” The man regarded him calmly. “Just tell us what we want to know, and it’ll all stop.”

He took a breath in, wanting to tell the man to go fuck himself, but all that came out was a wet, painful cough and spattering of blood. The man’s companion frowned. “Think you maybe fucked up his lungs with that last one.”

The man sighed. “You’re right. He’s not going to be much use now.” He stood up, producing a gun. Arthur felt a jolt of panic as the man pointed it at his head. “No use in drawing this out.”

XXX

“All we want to know is where Cobb is. That’s all.”

Arthur coughed, trying desperately to take a breath. The wet cloth over his face made it difficult though and every breath of air seemed to bring water with it, making him cough even more. He struggled to even form a coherent thought as his body caught up to the fact that it had access, at least somewhat, to air again. He was increasingly aware of the pain throughout his body, though, as his brain slowly started to come back online. His wrists and ankles ached from where he was restrained, but the pain was worst in his shoulders; he must have dislocated them while struggling.

“We know you know how to find him. This doesn’t have to keep going. Just tell us where he is.”

“Piss off.” Arthur could barely get the words out, his voice painfully rough from coughing. 

“Have it your way,” the man sighed.

Arthur immediately began struggling against his restraints as the water poured over his face again, the pain in his shoulders forgotten. He tried desperately to get free, get the cloth off his face, get some _fucking air_ but he was tied down too tightly.

The water paused. “This stops whenever you want it to.” It started back up, barely giving Arthur any time to take a breath. “All you have to do is tell us what we want to know.” It paused and Arthur gasped for air. “How do we find Dominic Cobb?” His lungs screamed for air as the water hit his face again. He was vaguely aware of a tearing sensation in one of his shoulders but it couldn’t quite cut through the panic and desperation enough for him to care. 

“We’re almost at the end.”

“Fuckin’ hell, he’s a tough little bastard. I thought he’d be a lot easier to break. I suppose we should just get this over with then, not like a few minutes is going to make a difference.”

Arthur barely had it in him to feel panic when he heard the gun cock.

XXX

Arthur had been shot before- mostly in dreams, once or twice in real life- but it wasn't the sort of thing you got used to no matter how many times it had happened. The explosion of pain as the bullet tore through his knee was enough to darken the edges of his vision momentarily. 

“Come on, it’s not that difficult of a question.” The man watched him dispassionately for a moment before kicking Arthur’s knee, seemingly unbothered by Arthur’s scream of pain. “Easy questions have easy answers.”

“Fuck you.” 

The man sighed and shot Arthur’s other knee, waiting until he was silent before speaking again. “You’re just making things harder for yourself. You really think you can keep this up for much longer?”

“Longer than…than you can, asshole.” He could barely get the words out through ragged breaths.

That got a laugh. “You know, I actually kinda like you. Not many people would still be firing back like that. It’s a shame I have to keep torturing you.” The man pressed the butt of the gun against Arthur’s knee, slowly applying pressure. “Doesn’t change the job though.” The slow increase in pressure against his wound was almost worse than being kicked. He tried not to cry out, he didn’t want to give the man the satisfaction, but the pain was unrelenting, just getting worse as the pressure increased. He struggled against his restraints, but he knew it was useless. “And I promise you I can keep this up far longer than you can withstand it.”

The man stood up, removing the pressure from Arthur’s leg. He watched him silently for a moment before striking out in a blurred motion. Arthur cried out as the butt of the gun slammed into his jaw. Pain bloomed across his face and he could taste blood in his mouth. The other man frowned. “Careful, you don’t want him to lose the ability to speak again. He’s not useful when that happens.”

The man smiled and leaned in. “He’s fine. You can still speak with a broken jaw.” He gripped one of Arthur’s knees, digging his fingers into the wound and smiling as Arthur screamed. “If you can scream, you can talk. Now tell us,” he gripped Arthur’s knee harder. “How do we find Dominic Cobb?” The edges of Arthur’s vision blurred. His entire jaw felt like it was on fire, and was vying with the searing agony where his knee used to be for the most painful thing he’d ever experienced. Everything around him seemed to take on a strange translucent quality, like it was disappearing into fog. “Come on, I know you…”

The man stopped, straightening up quickly. His partner frowned, looking around. “What the…?”

Arthur had assumed the strange fogginess had been due to pain, but the man looked around, confused, obviously seeing it too. “Something's not right up above. Something must have happened, we should-”

XXX

There was yelling. Arthur could hear people arguing but he couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. He opened his eyes slowly, trying to figure out where he was. Everything seemed blurry and out of focus and his mind felt like it was running through molasses. He tried to move his arm, but it seemed caught on something.

“Hey, glad to see you’re awake. You alright?”

Something clicked and Arthur was suddenly able to move his arm. He frowned, trying to place the voice. “Where…where th’fuck am I?”

“You’re in an abandoned warehouse near Petite Ceinture. You were kidnapped.”

“Right,” he muttered. He didn't quite understand what that meant, but he figured the best course of action was to pretend like he did. He tried to stand up but couldn’t seem to keep his balance, falling against whoever was helping him.

“Woah, hey, okay, let’s take it slow, alright? We had to just pull the IV out to wake you up, so you still have a lot of the compound in your system. You’re going to be pretty disorderiented and out of it for a few minutes. Let’s not rush things.”

Arthur frowned again. The voice felt so familiar, why couldn’t he place it? “…Eames?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Come on, let’s sit back down for a few minutes until your head’s a little clearer.”

Arthur started to sit back down, Eames’ hands keeping him upright, when a thought struck him. “My legs.” He looked down, confused. “They shot my legs. Why am I standing?”

“You were dreaming, you’re alright.”

“Dreaming.” That sounded like an odd answer, but Arthur supposed Eames would know what he was talking about. It had certainly _felt_ real though.

“Yeah, dreaming.” Eames watched him with concern. "You sure you're okay?"

“How is he?”

Eames sighed. “Some cuts and bruises from the abduction and he's pretty dazed, but otherwise okay I think.”

“Alright, get him up if you can. The police should be on their way and we want to be long gone by the time they get here.”

Arthur looked at the second person, trying to focus on their face and place their voice. It took a moment before it clicked. “Cobb.”

Cobb looked at him. “Yeah, you alright?”

“You’re Cobb.”

“…Jesus, he is out of it, isn’t he?”

“They wanted to know how to find you. They wanted me to tell them how to do that.”

“Well, I guess they didn’t need to look that hard.” Cobb motioned to Eames. “Come on, we need to go.”

Arthur stood up unsteadily, Eames supporting him and keeping him from falling. The movement sent a wave of nausea washing over him and he looked over at Eames, trying his best to focus on his face. “I’m gonna throw up.” He felt it was important Eames know that. 

“Right, that’s…good to know. Can you hold it until we get to the van?”

Arthur thought about it as Eames moved him towards the door. “I don’t know.”

"Okay, well, try to, um, try to hold it in until we get to the van. You can…throw up then. I think we have a bag." Arthur nodded. That sounded reasonable. And Eames was the main reason Arthur hadn't fallen over yet, so he supposed it was the least he could do. Eames guided him carefully into the back seat of a van. 

Someone (Yusof? He looked like Yusof) glanced back from the driver's seat. "Everyone set? I want to get the hell out of here."

Eames nodded. "Yeah we're good. Anyone have a bag? Arthur said he was going to throw up, and I figured it'd be best if he didn't do that on the floor."

Cobb rifled through the glove compartment for a moment before handing a plastic bag to Eames, who handed it to Arthur. "You sure he's good?"

"'M fine." Arthur leaned over, bag in front of his face. Things were starting to feel a little clearer, but that unfortunately also included his growing nausea. "Just…sick." He supposed he should probably feel embarrassed about vomiting into a plastic bag in the back of a van, but he figured he could feel that way later, when the rest of his brain had come back online. Right now he had the more pressing concern of trying not to throw up on himself.

“Alright, you’re okay, you’re okay.” Arthur could feel Eames’ hand on his back. “Yusof, how long until this shit is out of his system?”

“No idea. Could be anywhere from a couple minutes to a couple hours, honestly.”

“Thank you, that was very helpful.”

“It’s not like I make a habit of ripping IVs out in the middle of a dream state! We have no idea the strength of the compound or how much they were using, and plus it’s pretty likely they drugged him with something else during the abduction so that might still be in his system too. I can take a better look at him when we get to the workshop.”

It dawned on Arthur that they were all talking about him and he tried to sit up and reassure them he was fine but another wave of nausea hit and he was immediately doubled back over the bag. Beside him Eames sighed and brushed his hair back, trying to keep it out of his face, other hand still resting on his back. “You’re alright, just get it out of your system.”

By the time they got back to the workshop Arthur's head felt a lot clearer and the nausea had mostly gone away, but it had been replaced by a terrible headache. He felt like he’d somehow gotten a hangover and the flu all at once and he absolutely did _not_ want to be checked over by Yusof. All he wanted to do was go back to the hotel and pass out for a few hours until his head stopped pounding.

“Okay, it looks like he’s coming down. He just needs some sleep and probably a lot of water.”

“I told you I’m _fine_.”

“Alright, alright, no need to get cranky.” Eames sighed and helped Arthur up. His balance was better but he still wasn’t completely steady on his feet. “I’ll get him back to the hotel and keep an eye on him there. Our rooms are on the same floor.”

“You don’t have to talk about me like I can’t hear you. I’m right here.”

“My bad. In our defense, though, you did spend most of the van ride vomiting and high out of your mind, so we’re still getting used to you actually being able to understand and respond to what we’re saying.”

XXX

Eames watched, amused, as Arthur shrugged off his jacket with some difficulty and sat down on the bed. He was mostly lucid now but his coordination wasn’t great and he’d spent most of the walk up to the hotel room leaning heavily against Eames, garnering some interesting looks from the hotel staff. Arthur looked like he was both very hungover and still somewhat drunk, which Eames supposed was an odd combination for 3 in the afternoon, and he doubted the still darkening bruises on Arthur’s forehead and cheek from the abduction were helping. He filled up a glass in the bathroom sink and handed it to Arthur. “Come on, drink some water, and then I’ll leave you alone.”

“I’m fine, Eames.”

“I’m sure you are, but Yusof said you needed to drink water, so I’m not leaving until you drink at least this glass.” Arthur sighed and took the glass from him, downing half of it in one go. Eames waited until he finished it, then refilled it and set it on the bedside table. “You need anything before I leave?”

“No, I’m fine. I just need some sleep.”

“Okay, I’ll be down the hall if anything comes up.” He grabbed the spare key to Arthur’s room. “I’ll come check back by in a few hours.”

“Yeah alright.”

Eames paused. He’d assumed Arthur would lay down as soon as he finished the water but he seemed surprisingly hesitant. He was just staring down at the covers, expression unreadable. “Hey, you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He laid down, his back to Eames. “Thanks for getting me up here.”

“Course. Let me know if you need anything.”

XXX

Arthur jerked awake, sitting up quickly. The sudden movement sent a pounding wave of pain through his head and he laid back down slowly, groaning and burying his face in the pillow. He hadn’t dreamt in years, not naturally at least, but the sensation of falling still pulled him abruptly back to consciousness occasionally while he was trying to fall asleep. Not often, but occasionally.

This was the third time it’d happened since he’d laid down.

All he wanted to do was sleep. His head was pounding, he could still feel nausea in the back of his throat, and his entire body felt sore and overworked. He supposed it must have been the drugs he’d been given; he’d spent most of the time after being captured asleep, so it wasn’t like he’d managed to physically injure himself beyond some minor cuts and bruises from the fight. Sleep would be a welcome end to all of that for at least a couple of hours though, and he might even feel marginally better when he woke up.

_It’s not surprising you feel sore though, not after what you went through, is it?_ Arthur grimaced and pushed the thought away. None of that had been real. They were just dreams. His abductors had put him under as a way to question him without actual physical repercussions, without risking accidentally going too far. That was it, just dreams.

_Certainly felt real, though, didn’t it?_

Arthur sighed and rolled over. He didn’t need this right now. He just needed sleep.

XXX

It was nearly 8 when Eames knocked on Arthur’s door quietly. He didn’t want to wake him if he was still sleeping, but if he was already up and around he didn’t want to just barge in without warning either. After a moment of silence he opened the door quietly and stuck his head in. 

Arthur looked up as Eames walked in. “Figured you must have come by earlier while I was still asleep.”

“No, I wanted to give you plenty of time to rest.” He set the bag in his hand on the coffee table. “Thought you might be hungry, so I brought Chinese.”

Arthur stood up slowly and walked over to the couch. He gave Eames a tight smile that was just enough above a grimace for it to count. “Thanks.”

“You think you can hold it down?”

“Yeah, I think the worst of the nausea’s passed. It’s been a couple of hours since I last threw up.”

“Well that’s progress at least.” Eames handed him a takeout container. “You always hog the lo mein whenever we get takeout at the workshop, so I figured it must be your favourite.” Arthur laughed slightly and flipped him off before digging in. He looked a little better than when Eames had brought him up to the hotel room, but he still didn’t look great. The bruises on his face had turned a nasty shade of purple and Eames could see the edge of another one just below the collar of Arthur’s shirt, which was untucked and wrinkled from sleep. The red marks around his wrists from the handcuffs hadn’t quite gone away either, and Eames figured they’d likely turn into bruises too, albeit not quite as bad as the other ones. Some of his hair had fallen in front of his face; normally he would’ve immediately pushed it back in annoyance, but he hadn’t even bothered to brush it out of his eyes. Eames didn’t think he’d ever seen Arthur look this disheveled before. “How’re you feeling?”

Arthur shrugged. “Better. Tired.”

“I thought you said you got some sleep.”

“A couple of hours, yeah. I’m still pretty tired though.”

Eames nodded, feeling a twinge of concern. He got the distinct feeling Arthur was avoiding looking at him, though it could’ve been for any number of reasons. Probably because he seemed singularly focused on eating the entire container of lo mein. “You know, I did want at least a little of that.”

“Hey, I’m the kidnapping victim, I get to eat the lo mein. That’s just how this works, sorry.”

“Fine, I suppose I can get by on just fried rice.”

XXX

Arthur was fine. 

Really, he was. He’d always bruised easily, so it wasn’t surprising that the bruises on his face were just now starting to heal. And he’d never really slept much, not really, so his lack of sleep the past fews days wasn’t out of the ordinary. At least not too much. And if he found his mind wandering to the memories that felt far more real than dreams should despite his best efforts not to do so? Well, they were still recent events, it’s not surprising his mind would be drawn to them. He was _fine_. 

He stared at the pages in front of him blankly. He’d been trying to get through a recent paper about the use of paradoxical architecture in dream construction for what felt like hours, but he’d barely gotten 4 pages in. He’d start in on a paragraph only to tune back in 15 minutes and several pages later to realize he hadn’t actually absorbed anything he’d read. It was frustrating; Arthur prided himself on his ability to focus, and his inability to do so for the past few days bothered him. He shouldn’t be bothered by what happened, he _wasn’t_ bothered. 

_You really think you can keep this up much longer?_

Arthur shut his eyes and gripped his coffee mug a little tighter. He didn’t need to think about that right now, he needed to finish the fucking article, that was it. Those had just been dreams, nothing more. They hadn’t been real. No need to think about them or focus on them or think about how hard it had been to breathe, how painful it had been when…

“Arthur?”

Arthur’s eyes shot open. It took him a moment to focus. “I-what?”

“You okay?” Eames was watching him with concern. “I’ve been calling your name for like 30 seconds.”

“Yeah, I-I’m fine. Just tired.” He tried to smile, but he doubted it was very reassuring. “Zoned out a bit, that’s all.”

Eames watched him, clearly unconvinced. “Right.” He leaned against the table next to Arthur, voice dropping slightly. “Mate, you been alright the past few days?”

Arthur frowned, looking back down at the article. “Of course I have.” 

“You sure? You’ve been really distracted and you don’t look like you’ve been sleeping. I don’t want to pry, but I’m just a bit…”

“I’m fine.” Arthur turned over the page rather forcefully, disregarding the fact he hadn’t actually absorbed any of the information on it. He wasn’t avoiding Eames’ eyes, just trying to get back to reading, that was all. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Eames hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “You said they…questioned you while you were under and I just…what they did-”

“What they did wasn’t real. They were just dreams.” Arthur stared down at the pages in front of him, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. 

“Arthur, it’s alright if you’re not…”

“I _said_ I’m _fine_.” He stood quickly, accidentally knocking his coffee mug off the table in the process. It shattered, coffee spilling everywhere. “Shit.” He could feel the entire team watching him from their respective places in the workshop as he got a dish towel from the counter and crouched down to wipe the coffee up. Eames was the worst though; everyone else was watching him out of surprise but Eames was watching him out of concern and he hated it. He didn’t need someone to worry about him, not right now. He picked the shards up carefully and carried them over to the sink. He’d get things cleaned up and then he’d go back to reading and finally finish the fucking article. Then he’d go back to the hotel and get some sleep and he’d be fine, he _was_ fine, he was just…

A sharp pain in his hand brought Arthur’s thoughts to a halt. He looked down, startled to see his palm red. He doubted it was a deep cut, it would’ve hurt more if it was- _and I promise you_ \- but it seemed to be bleeding quite a bit- _I can keep this up_ \- he tried to move his hand, he should stem the bleeding, but his arm wouldn’t seem to respond- _far longer_ \- he needed to stop the bleeding but he couldn’t move, just stay still- _than you_ \- everything had gone so quiet, he tried to focus, figure out what was happening around him, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t stop staring at the blood- _can withstand it_ -

He flinched as something grabbed his arm, pulling away, eyes wide. It took him a minute to focus his eyes, everything seemed weirdly blurry. Eames was watching him with open concern and Arthur could see his mouth moving but he couldn’t seem to make out what he was saying. He wanted to back away, leave, _get out_ , but his body wouldn’t move. He tried to take a deep breath but the air wouldn’t come. The uncomfortable feeling in his chest was spiraling into panic, he just _needed to breathe why couldn’t he breathe._ He was vaguely aware of the fact that he’d dropped what he was holding again but it didn’t matter, he just needed air- _he was gasping for breath but there was too much water, oh god he was drowning-_

He could feel someone gently guiding him, moving him somewhere, but it felt like it was happening miles away to someone else. He still couldn’t breathe, lungs gasping for air, each breath feeling like he was choking. _Brace for it, you know it’s coming, they want to know where Cobb is, they aren’t going to stop until you tell them or you’re dead, you can’t tell them, you can’t tell them._ He didn’t know when he’d sat down but he leaned forward, elbows against his legs, hands behind his neck, trying to get a breath in, just _breathe goddammit just fucking breathe._

“You’re okay, just breathe. Nice and easy, just like that. You’re okay.” Someone was rubbing circles on his back, the gentle movement breaking through some of the panic. He was shaking, trembling, and his face was wet, had he started crying? “You’re in the workshop. You’re safe. Just sit with me and breathe. You’re going to be alright.”

Arthur took a shuddering breath, a little more air getting into his lungs. _You’re not okay, you’re not safe, you have to get out of here, you have to brace yourself, it’s going to start again, you have to be prepared._ He shut his eyes, whimpering, trying to block the thoughts out. Just focus on breathing. 

“You’re alright, it’s okay.”

He focused on the hand on his back, the small repetitive movements giving his mind something to latch onto. His breathing was still shallow but it was somewhat easier, each one a little less a gasp and a little more a breath. 

“That’s it. Just breathe, you’re okay.”

Arthur opened his eyes slightly. “E-Eames?”

“Yeah. You back with me?”

Arthur nodded shakily, looking around. The room was dark and cluttered; one of the workshop’s side rooms if he had to guess. “I-I…what happened?”

“You were cleaning up your mug when you cut your hand. You…freaked out a bit after that, so I thought it might be best to get you somewhere quiet.”

Arthur nodded again. “Thank you.” 

“Of course.” Eames’ voice was soft. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I-I think.”

“Can I see your hand? I want to make sure it’s okay.” Right, his hand. Arthur slowly unclenched his grip from behind his neck. Eames took his hand gently, looking at the cut in the dim light. The movement caused a slight stab of pain and Arthur flinched back, whimpering. His breathing was getting shallow again and he could feel the panic rising in his chest. Eames’ hand went back to his back, tracing small circles again. “It’s okay, you’re okay, it’s just me. I’m not going to hurt you.” He moved his other hand to Arthur’s face, tilting his head so they were looking at each other. Arthur tried to focus on his face but things were starting to get blurry again. “Look at me, it’s alright, it’s just me. Just breathe.” Eames took a deep breath in, waiting until Arthur did the same as best he could. “That’s right, just like that. You’re okay.” He continued to breathe with Arthur until the panic in his chest had died back down a bit. “Are you going to be okay if I go and get some gauze from the med kit?”

“Yeah, I-I’ll be fine.” Eames nodded and stood up, hand lingering on Arthur’s shoulder for a moment. Arthur looked down at the cut on his palm. The cut looked a bit deeper than he’d thought, but it wasn’t that bad. He’d certainly had worse injuries that got less of a reaction from him.

“Is he alright?”

Arthur glanced up, Cobb’s voice startling him. He must’ve been in the hallway.

“Yeah, just a bit freaked. I’d give him some space.”

“Course.”

Arthur looked down, embarrassed. Eames may have gotten him into one of the side rooms, but the rest of the crew would have seen at least the beginning of his…episode. Freak out. Whatever the fuck it was. 

Eames walked back in and sat down next to him. “Can I see your hand again?” 

Arthur held it out, still looking down. He didn’t want Eames to see the shame in his face. He hesitated. “How much did the others see?”

“See of what?”

“Of what…happened.”

Eames paused. “A little bit, but not much. Why?”

“Nothing, I just…” Arthur frowned. “Nevermind, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Eames stopped, and Arthur could feel him watching him. “Arthur, look at me.” He looked up slowly after a moment. Eames was looking at him with the same look of concern he’d had when Arthur had knocked his mug over in the first place. “This isn’t something to be embarrassed about. We’re just worried, _I’m_ worried, about you and…”

“I’m fine.” Arthur pulled his hand back and finished wrapping the cut quickly before standing up. “Listen, I-I’m just going to go back to the hotel. Thanks for…for helping me.”

“Arthur…”

He walked out of the room and into the main part of the workshop to grab his coat. He did his best to ignore everyone’s eyes on him. He was still shaking somewhat and he’d managed to get blood all over his collar from having his hand behind his neck, so he was sure he looked quite the sight. Hopefully his jacket would cover that; he doubted a cab would want to pick up someone with visible blood on their shirt. He walked out of the building without making eye contact with anyone, eyes staring pointedly at the ground.

_I’m fine._

_They saw._

_I’m fine._

_They know you’re not._

_I’m fine._

XXX

Eames hesitated in front of the door. He knew Arthur pretty well, and he doubted he’d appreciate being checked up on. The man was stubborn as hell when he wanted to be, which was most of the time, and didn’t appreciate people infringing on his carefully maintained privacy. After what had happened earlier, Arthur could damn well be pissed that Eames came by to check on him. Knocking on the door would probably just get him, at best, a tightly controlled berating. 

But he knew Arthur pretty well. And he’d never seen him as frightened as he’d been earlier. It’d taken Eames almost five minutes to get him even remotely close to calmed down. Five minutes of Arthur hyperventilating and crying, his entire body shaking. And even once he’d calmed down enough to know where he was the slightest pain had been enough to nearly send him spiralling again. He’d been _terrified_ , and if Eames hadn’t already been worried about him he sure as hell was now. 

He hadn’t thought Arthur would answer the door, honestly. He’d made it clear when he’d left the workshop earlier that he wasn’t keen on talking with anyone at the moment, and even if he _did_ answer the door Eames had assumed it would be with an angry expression. He certainly hadn’t been expecting the look of utter exhaustion on Arthur’s face when he opened the door. It suddenly occurred to Eames that he had no idea what he planned on saying. “I just…I wanted to come by and check in.” Arthur didn’t say anything. “Can I…is it alright if I come in?”

Arthur shrugged and moved aside to let Eames in his room, closing the door behind him. He sat down on the couch. Eames sat down next to him, trying not to frown. Arthur looked like shit. He hadn’t exactly been looking great in general since the abduction, but this was particularly bad. He was still wearing the same shirt as earlier, blood and all, and his hair was hanging in his face. The dark circles under his eyes seemed even more prominent than they had in the past few days. “Arthur, are you…”

“I’m fine.” Arthur’s voice was quiet and he wasn’t looking at Eames. “I appreciate your concern but I’m _fine_.”

Anger flared in Eames’ chest. “Don’t. Just…don’t. I know you value your privacy and you don’t like people prying, but that’s bullshit and we both know it. You’re not sleeping, you can’t focus, and I sat with you as you had a massive fucking panic attack this morning, so don’t tell me you’re _fine_.” He took a deep breath, pinching his nose. Emotional comfort clearly wasn’t his strong suit. “I just…I’m _worried_ about you, Arthur. I want to help you but I can’t do that if you won’t talk to me.”

Arthur watched him, surprised, for a moment before looking back down. He was quiet for a few minutes and Eames began to worry he’d maybe been too harsh. “They were just dreams. They shouldn’t be bothering me.”

“You know as well as I do that shit feels real when you’re in it. Your brain doesn’t care whether it was real or a dream. It just remembers it happened.” Eames hesitated, unsure how his next question would be received. “What _did_ happen, Arthur?”

“They…they wanted to know where Cobb was, so they…questioned me.” Arthur seemed to draw in on himself. “It’s easier in a dream. You don’t have to worry about going too far because if you do you can just reset. Kill the person. Put them under again. Continue. Repeat until you get the information you wanted. And every time, the person thinks it’s really happening. They think they’re really in danger, that they might really die. That their injuries are real. That they’re drowning. Or being electrocuted. Or that you shot them. Or that…that…”

Eames could hear the panic rising in Arthur’s voice and recognized his increasingly rapid breathing. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re alright. You’re safe.” Arthur flinched slightly when Eames rested his hand on his back, but didn’t pull away. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I can’t make it stop, Eames. Every time I close my eyes it’s all there. I try so hard not to think about it, to push it away, to ignore it, but I can’t.” He dropped his head, his voice breaking on the last word. “I just want it to stop.”

“I know.” Arthur leaned against him as Eames put his arm around his shoulders. He felt exhausted. Eames had seen him pull multiple all-nighters in a row on cases, staying up for two or three days straight to get research done, but this was different. Deeper, more consuming. "Arthur, when was the last time you slept?"

Arthur was quiet for a moment. "I don't know," he admitted finally. 

"Let's get you cleaned up and then get you some sleep, alright? We can talk more tomorrow if you want, but I don't think it'll be very helpful if you're half out of your mind with exhaustion." Eames paused. "I can stay, if you want. If that'd help you sleep."

"Would…would you be okay with that?"

"Course I would. Wouldn't have offered if I wasn't." Arthur nodded and sat up. Eames brought his hand up and brushed Arthur's hair out of his face slightly. "Let's get you cleaned up first though, yeah? You look like shit, and I doubt wearing a bloody shirt is helping."

Arthur gave him the closest thing to a genuine smile Eames had seen in the week since he'd been kidnapped. Still barely above a grimace, but Eames would take any progress he could get. "You're probably right, I guess." Arthur stood up slowly and grabbed a clean shirt from his bag. He walked into the bathroom and Eames heard the sink turn on. Arthur came back out a few minutes later, still looking like shit but at least with a clean shirt. He paused in the middle of the room, looking unsure. "If you…if you want to leave it's fine. You don't have to stay."

Eames frowned. "Do you _want_ me to stay?"

"I'm sure you'd rather stay in your own room, you don't have to…"

"That's not what I asked you, Arthur. I asked if you want me to stay." Arthur hesitated a moment before nodding. Eames stood up and walked over to the bed, kicking off his shoes. "Then I'll stay." He pulled the covers back and sat down, giving Arthur a small smile. "I'm tired anyways. Could use some sleep myself I guess."

Arthur nodded again and laid down, curling into a tight ball. Even from the other side of the bed Eames could feel how tense he was. He wanted to say something, reassure Arthur somehow, but he didn’t want to make Arthur uncomfortable. This was definitely past Arthur’s normal boundaries, and Eames didn’t want to push too far. It was a near miracle Arthur was okay with him staying as it was. He laid down and pulled the covers up, watching Arthur’s back. It’d be a bit weird sleeping in his clothes but it certainly wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d done, and being able to make sure that Arthur actually got at least some sleep was more than worth it.

He’d started to doze when Arthur jerked suddenly, the unexpected movement waking him back up. He opened his eyes, surprised to see Arthur sitting up slightly. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I just…I haven’t been falling asleep easily recently. That’s all.” He laid back down. “I’m fine.”

Eames frowned. Arthur’s voice had the same tightness in it as it’d had when he’d insisted he was fine in the workshop. He rolled over, watching Arthur’s back carefully. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Eames hesitated, then reached out across the bed, carefully resting his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. He seemed to curl in on himself and Eames could feel him shaking slightly. After a moment he moved closer, wrapping his arm around Arthur’s waist. Arthur’s breathing was uneven and Eames moved in closer, recognizing the shaky breaths of someone trying to hold back tears. “It’s alright. You can be not okay. That’s fine. You just…don’t have to be it alone.” Arthur shifted, turning so that he was facing Eames, his head resting against Eames’ chest. He was shaking more and Eames was fairly certain he was crying now. “Let it out. I’ll be here to help you pick up the pieces after.”

It was several minutes before Arthur’s shoulders stopped shaking. Eames assumed he’d pull away when he calmed down but he stayed where he was, one on his hands holding onto Eames’ shirt. Eames brought one of his hands up so that it was resting on the back of Arthur’s head, his other hand rubbing gentle circles on his back. “What do you say to maybe taking a little time off from the workshop? Give yourself some time to process this. It’s not like we have any jobs coming up.”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah, I-I think that’s probably a good idea.” His voice was quiet and he sounded tired, but it had lost the tightness it’d had earlier.

“If you want someone with you, I’ll be there.” He ran his hand through Arthur’s hair. “All you have to do is ask.”

“What if…what if it takes a while? Before I’m okay again?”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not going anywhere.” Eames rested his chin on the top of Arthur’s head. “I care about you, Arthur, and that’s not going to change . I’ll be here in whatever way you need me, for however long you need me.” Arthur didn’t say anything, just wrapped his arm around Eames’ waist, moving closer. “I meant what I said about not having to do this alone.”

Some of the tension finally seemed to drain from Arthur’s shoulders. “Thank you.” 

Eames could hear sleep creeping into his voice and smiled. “Of course.” He closed his eyes as he felt Arthur’s breathing start to slow and even out. “Get some sleep. I’ll be here when you wake. I promise.”


End file.
